Prey
by Hypocrisy
Summary: I met the most imposing man on Earth. I've never felt so little in my life. He was singularly the most frightening man I've ever encountered. Or dreamt of, for that matter.
1. Varelse

Standard Disclaimer: Couldn't own it even if I wanted it.  
  
Author's Offical-First-Chapter-Required Note: I'm going to keep you guessing. Or at least try.  
  
Prey  
  
Chapter One Varelse  
  
I met someone.  
  
Oh Christ.  
  
I'm still a nervous wreck over it.  
  
I met the most imposing man on Earth. I've never felt so little in my life. He... my mind's still whirling, I can't make sense of what it is I want to say. My fingers are shaking as I try to type. He was singularly the most frightening man I've ever encountered. Or dreamt of, for that matter. The moment his eyes locked onto mine, I felt as though I was dying, and reborn in the flames of those dark orbs, I belonged to him.  
  
I was frozen, speechless, and I completely forgot where I was. Everything faded into the distance as I gazed upon the visage of the devil himself. I was terrified and oh-so urgently needed to find some water to unstick the lump in my throat. I knew I was on solid ground, but that appeared as a distant memory, as though the laws of physics ceased to exist around me. The universe suddenly contracted upon itself, bringing all the swirling, dark masses to a halt - the only thing left was me and the dark demon of Death who gazed upon me. He was a lion, and I was his lamb.  
  
There was something so temptingly terrible with him. As my initial fear sunk away to freeze my toes, my lips and cheeks felt afire. I was staring back at him, my shame and modesty no longer a hindrance. I felt weak, yet attractive beneath his raven gaze. I was waiting for him to pounce, and thought the action unmistakably appealing. I was meat, dangling from a rope, waiting for the predator to strike. I couldn't wait for his teeth to sink in.  
  
I found myself seated next to him, appreciatively noticing his biceps were roughly the size of tree trunks. I do not recall how I had managed to slide into his booth, much less speak my name to him. But the corner of his mouth curled up in some emotion, be it amusement or enjoyment - it didn't matter to me, it wasn't negative - and returned his own name in kind. I've since forgotten it. I remember, however, that it was strangely familiar, though exotic in pronunciation. Damn my forgetfulness!  
  
We shared few words, the music was too loud, the drinks too intoxicating. Lights flickered on and off, bright, blinding steams filled with vivid color. He handed me a card and slipped into the crowd, disappearing into the ruckus like an evening fog as the sun rose. So mysterious. I wanted more.  
  
And so here I am, jibbering excitedly, out of control. I can't find my cell phone, less I call everyone I knew and recount the tale again and again. My blood refuses to stop drumming in my ears and my heart is treating me like a sixty year old diabetic in insulin shock. I can't wait to meet him again.  
  
I have his number.  
  
Too bad I forgot his name.  
  
A/N – To all those sci-fi fans out there, the term varelse is taken from the Ender Quartet by Orson Scott Card. Varelse is given to a group, specifically not terrestrial, that are incapable of rational communication. They act purely on instinct and it can not be made known whether or not they are sentient. They might be intelligent, but there is no way to find out. A "true" alien. 


	2. Touching the Void

Standard Disclaimer – If I owned Dragonball Z, there'd be sex. And lots of it.  
  
Prey  
  
Chapter Two Touching the Void  
  
I saw him again.  
  
Through a window.  
  
I was working.  
  
I had called the number left on the card millions of times in my dreams. I came up with funny, sultry, honest, and forward things to say should I get his answering machine. I knew I'd freeze if I spoke to him. It's so silly, when I think about it. Here I am, one of the most forward people I know, and I get shy when some guy has a pretty face.  
  
When you need something said, you come to me; I say it. To whoever you want me to say it to. I know I have a big mouth. Some of my friends call it endearing. They know I'll say whatever it is that's on my mind, and they don't cry over it. I guess it's that honesty that makes my friendships so few and far between. I guess it's that honesty that makes the ones I have so much closer.  
  
But I managed to call him once. It rang, and it rang. I saw so caught up on what I would say, I never noticed that it rang for almost a minute. I felt incredibly foolish and hung up, wondering why the Hell I bothered in the first place. This is where I mentally cut myself down in the worst kinds of ways. I'm loud and I'm obnoxious. I guess I'm pretty. I wouldn't say I was drop dead anything. Okay, I know I'm better than average. Whatever you want to call it. I'm confident enough in myself. But I'm picky. I'm finicky. Hell, I'm female. I'm moody. I'm prone to violence. I'm defensive. I'm opinionated. My tummy's flabby. Maybe my breath smelled bad when I told him my name.  
  
I spent the next twenty minutes creating thousands of reasons why someone like him, like him, wouldn't be bothered with a girl like me. Then I thought, what? I don't even know him! I'm basing this entirely upon some physical attraction! That meant nothing! ...didn't it? I felt guilty. I'm the kind of girl who can honestly say she can look beyond the surface. But the surface of this guy was so damned pretty, I couldn't help but be swallowed whole! Can I be blamed? Can I possibly be blamed by being so attracted to his physical appeal? If he turns out to be a nice guy, what's the harm, right? Bonus material. Nice guy who looks better than Brad Pitt. My guilt was starting to turn into pleasure.  
  
I wonder what he looks like naked.  
  
I wonder what he looks like in candlelight.  
  
I wonder what he looks like with my legs draped over his shoulders.  
  
He was my obsession for days. A week, even. Every waking breath was devoted to the wondering of this stranger who reeked of macho masculinity. I would damn my dreams for not envisioning him, his lips, his kisses. He simply oozed sex appeal. A raw, fresh sore, that was just begging to be scratched.  
  
My hope was beginning to die. Like a candle stuck in a bell jar, it was dwindling fast, having burned up the fuel. I had dreamt up steamy trysts and romantic getaways, and now I was stuck with the cold hard fact of reality: he is never going to show up in my life again. My dreams became fewer and fewer, the degrees turned down a few notches (as if frigid counted as a 'few notches'). My fantasies of consummating my deepest passions became erotic simply by seeing him again. How hot is that? Oh my god, he waved at me! And I just... I just melted!  
  
Then he showed up again.  
  
And my body turned on the overdrive. I remember looking up from the table, my smile still stupidly plastered to my face, when my eyes met his. He was staring at me through the window and I forgot where I was. My mouth dropped open, hand releasing the printed copy of a customer receipt. I was suddenly the sexiest woman alive and wearing next to nothing, my hair a curly mass that reached by butt. He was my hero, my savior, my knight in shining armor. The nag of my customer shattered my dream and shut my mouth.  
  
I looked down to apologize, and after doing so found him gone. I wandered through the restaurant, thinking maybe he had stepped into the bathroom or sat at the bar. No. No, he wasn't. He was gone.  
  
Had I dreamed it? He was my fantasy personified. He was every carnal desire, every hope and wish, every lost tear and every drop of blood. He personified my pain. But he was unobtainable. And because of that, I wanted him more. It was perverse, I thought. How else would my pain be? I cannot have it, for then it would stop hurting. I couldn't help but wonder if I had dreamed it. Knowing how I had often felt his breath on my neck, hands upon my hips, all in my visions, why wouldn't I recreate him whole and before me? Or was he teasing me?  
  
My childish side rejoiced. He remembered me! He sought me out! But my mature side parried menacingly. He knows where you work. He probably knows where you live. Oh god. He knows!  
  
I finished my side work in a hurry and left work in a storm of emotions. He knows where I live! Maybe! It's not for sure! But if he knows where I work, what else does he know about me?  
  
A/N – Touching the Void is the title of a movie of two climbers who make the impossible happen. A true story. Watch it, cringe, and be very afraid. 


	3. Uninvited

S/D – If I owned DBZ, Vegeta would have his tail and beat the living daylights out of Goku just for shits and giggles.  
  
**Prey**  
  
Chapter Three  
  
Uninvited  
  
The rain was so heavy it almost drowned out my radio.  
  
I turned it up.  
  
I could still hear the drum of the rain. It was driving me crazy.  
  
Incomplete thoughts ran freight lines in my skull, their air horns ricocheting on the bone in my head painfully.  
  
I tried to pay attention to my driving. Tried to be careful. I knew I was driving too fast. I knew it was raining hard. I knew my car had bad tires. I knew... I knew...  
  
But all that seemed inconsequential. I had to get home and get there now.  
  
So intent upon my destination, I didn't see the following vehicle. It had most likely started tailing me after I left work. Maybe they waited for me in the parking lot. Maybe they just picked a random car. I don't know. But there they were, and I didn't notice.  
  
I consider myself a pretty paranoid person. If I think someone's following me, I make a detour. I'll double back, take unnecessary turns, speed, or even drive very, very slowly. I've tricked more than one car on the tail. You know the one; you pull into a driveway, turn off the headlights and duck. Yeah, that worked all too well. Or sometimes just drive in a big circle and wait for them to give up. Once I ducked into a shopping center and hid. I watched the driver and passenger get out and follow my trail into the store. That's when I leapt out of hiding and drove off like a bat outta Hell. Sometimes I have a pretty good idea what they want from me. And sometimes I don't.  
  
I didn't get the chance to determine that this follower was unwanted.  
  
Track one started playing over again for the third time that day.  
  
I wanted a different song on the radio. I fumbled for a different disk, trying to remember what songs were on what of my unlabeled collection. I turned on the overhead light and pawed through them haphazardly. I remember grinning to myself and shouting, "Found it!" when I saw the headlights coming for me. Yeah, so fucking stupid.  
  
I don't know if it was me that veered into oncoming traffic. Hell, he could have been a drunk and driving in the far right lane on the wrong side of the road. I don't know. It might have been me. I wasn't paying enough attention. But I'm usually pretty good about staying in the lines at all times, even when I'm distracted. I can't remember a time when I drifted onto the wrong side before. But, I digress. There is some movement I am neglecting.  
  
I can't exactly recall what it was that went through my head. I don't think I could have remembered had I taken a pen and paper an instant afterward and tried to write it all down. Needless to say, my heart jumped into my throat and I would have had to get the car's interior detailed had I not relieved myself at work. I grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it to one direction. There was a squealing of tires and a slosh of water.  
  
I sat there, listening to track one again, my disk of choice forgotten, discarded somewhere in the belly of my car. The wipers groaned and pushed away the mud that had climbed aboard and sheeted across the windshield. The engine was still running on the side of the road. I had stomped down on the clutch and brake. Putting the car in neutral I attempted to gather the courage to look behind me. I imagined the twisted steel cages housing half- mutilated bodies and babies screaming for their mothers who had just greeted their god.  
  
I turned the music off, silencing the interior buzz. The hum of the engine and the drum of rain on the panels echoed almost threateningly. The light above seemed to flicker. They were reminders that I was still there. I still hadn't faced the consequences. I still hadn't checked to see if I had killed anyone. That's how it felt. I was sure someone was dead and that it was my fault. My stomach tied itself into knots of dread and fear. I'd rather of jumped out of a plane again than face this.  
  
I wasn't consciously moving my body - it had a will of its own. My mind was telling me, Hey, just sit tight a little longer. If they don't drive off, we know there's a problem. You don't have to go anywhere. They're just gonna drive off soon. But there I was, feet planted in the mud, the wet goo sinking into my socks and the soles of my shoes. The rain pelted down my hair and soaked my shirt to my shoulders in seconds. I was striding toward the car on the other side of the street.  
  
Water dripped off my chin and ears, and I blinked furiously to keep my vision clear of the intrusive liquid. It was warm, the weather here always was, no matter the time of day or night, but I was chilled to the bone. I never would have thought in a million years that I would have found myself in this position: my hands wiping at the passenger window of another car to clear the gathering water, mud caked to my ankles and so wet, I might as well of jumped into a pool.  
  
There wasn't anyone in the car. Surprise wouldn't be enough of a word to convey the feeling that swept over me in that instant. What was this? Some kamikaze car driven by remote? Designed to run others off the road in fear of their lives? Who the fuck does that? I'm so gonna kick some ass when I track them down!  
  
I was thinking of what weapons I would use against my would-be victim when I noticed the driver side door was open. I stepped around the car half expecting to see an alien (my imagination is so wacky) or some broken body, lying mangled in the mud. I found, however, a rather obese woman sprawled out face down in the water. She wasn't breathing.  
  
Sure, part of me thought, Hey, what the Hell. If she chokes and dies, that's not _my_ fault. She was probably eating some ham sandwich and got it lodged down her fat neck. Who the Hell thinks of these things?! Come on, help the woman! Kneeling down into the mud I struggled to roll the small whale onto her back. I still had time to check my sarcastic remark of 'When I weigh this much, someone kill me.' Sheesh.  
  
I was suddenly glad I took those lifeguarding classes last summer as the ABCs of CPR came flooding back to me. I checked the woman's mouth and sure enough, I found a bit of half chewed cornbread on her tongue. Turning her head to the side, I applied my hands to her diaphragm (where I thought it was...) and pushed hard. Her body jerked and splashed in the pool beneath her. Poor Willy's mom! Someone shoot me for thinking that. The cornbread came out with a rush of air. I turned expectantly, thinking this was done and I'd saved her life. But the woman was still not moving.  
  
Christ. I remember saying just that, "Christ." I nudged myself closer and began giving her mouth to mouth, thankful the rain had washed away the muddy water from her swollen face. I checked her pulse. I couldn't tell if it was mine or hers I was feeling. I was sure that my own blood pressure would have rocketed through the roof. I was amazed it wasn't drumming in my ears at that very moment. Maybe I couldn't hear it for the rain pummeling everything around me. Either way, it couldn't be determined whose pulse it was I was feeling. Sure, I did it by the book, pointer and middle finger pressed to the jugular, but damnit, I couldn't get a clear pulse out. She was either a humming bird trapped in an orca's body, or my own heart was beating like Hell.  
  
The CPR began. It went roughly. I couldn't tell where her sternum was. There was a sick sound of something inside her giving way. I was sure I broke a few ribs. Must be doing something right.  
  
Soon the woman was sputtering and coughing. Plunging my hand into my server's apron, I fished out my cell phone and called the paramedics, giving our approximate location. An hour had passed since I left work. I sat back on the edge of the blacktop, ignoring the fact my heels were buried in mud. She was writhing in the dirt and water, moaning about something. I didn't care. I wasn't about to haul her off the ground 'cause she didn't wanna get wet. Fuck that. I just saved her life. She can wallow in the mud like the porcine beast she resembled.  
  
I've never smoked in my life, and right now, I wanted a cigarette.  
  
I sat there, in the pouring rain, feeling rather put out that this woman had decided to choke on her dinner and run me off the road. At this point in time, I feel it's her fault. It very well may have been my screwed up driving that scared her enough to inhale rather than chew her bread, but I wasn't about to admit fault for the woman who gave Hoover a bad name. I weighed my options: I could sit there and wait for the ambulance and go through the terrible two hours worth of questions... or just leave. The woman was in the clear. Unless, by some miracle, was able to worm her way back onto her stomach and continue to breathe water. I looked again at her. Not likely.  
  
Yeah. I should've started smoking right then and there so I could have thrown my butt right on that woman's third chin. I begrudgingly spare your life. I was a fucking super-hero. I didn't need credit. Some crappy picture in some worthless paper, yeah, no thanks. I got to my feet and clapped my hands on my thighs, "Well, it's been real. Lay off the ham sandwiches."  
  
I removed my shoes and socks, rolled my pants up and got back into my car without a worry in the world. Or in mild shock. Whatever you want to call it.  
  
I still hadn't noticed the single headlight that had followed me even after the accident. Hell, no one stops and waits for their victim to save the life of some tub of lard and then continue to follow them in the middle of a rainstorm. Don't stalkers even have better things to do?  
  
I live in a gated community. Yeah, whatever. The gate on the bottom exit is never closed. Something about fire codes. All I know is that it's stupid. That's all I ever bothered to call it: stupid. Why have one closed when the other's constantly wide open? I think my landlord's a bad planner, just to start. So the single headlight follows me in, trailing behind enough to make me think it's just a neighbor. So much for being paranoid.  
  
I parked the car and climbed the stairs without bothering to shut the garage behind me. My shoes thumped to a muddy pile at the door, leaving it ajar. As I walked up the stairs, I dropped articles of clothing, uncaring about their dampness or location. I was intent on my shower and would not be swayed.  
  
The hot water felt like Heaven. I stood beneath the stream till I couldn't feel the flesh on my back. It could have been as much as an hour before I stepped out of the shower, my mind melted into a complete blank as both exhaustion and weariness crumbled my usually indomitable energy.  
  
Wrapping a towel loosely around my wet frame, I padded off to the kitchen to nab a bite to eat and check for messages. It was such a routine behavior I almost didn't notice the change in my living room.  
  
He was sitting there, one leg draped over the other, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Why'd you save her life?"  
  
I was so ...so ...so something that my hands flew to my face.  
  
Naturally, my towel dropped to the floor unceremoniously.  
  
A/N: I have nothing of value to say. None of this is of value. 


	4. On the Subject of Life and Death

S/D: DBZ's mine. So's your mortal soul.  
  
Prey  
  
Chapter Four On the Subject of Life and Death...  
  
Yeah. The towel dropped.  
  
As I write this, I feel like a bad director. Cue the nude scene and embarrassment. Hello.  
  
That towel just had to drop, didn't it? Right in front of the man who reminded me what a libido was and just how crazy it can be. I have craved chocolate like never before because of that man. And now... Now he was staring at me as I shrieked in the nude. Oh, please, sleep with me? I promise I won't howl like a banshee!  
  
But he wasn't staring, and I wasn't screaming. It was more like an, "Oh fuck. How did you get in?" with an accusatory step and jabbing finger. I guess I didn't realize I was naked, or maybe I was too mad. Either way, I ignored his question.  
  
He shrugged it like water off a duck's back. Only without the motion. "You left all the doors open."  
  
That sounded reasonable enough to me because I had retreated back to my wet spot on the floor. You know the one: the dripping water and towel saved my place.  
  
"I locked up behind myself."  
  
The deliverance of this line left me in some kind of state. I couldn't help but see the glint in his eye, whether it was there or not. I was suddenly afire, my hands clutching at my hips, arms flattening my breasts as I made some attempt to recover. "Oh," was all that left my big, stupid mouth. "Oh." Yeah, people say Oh when they fuck up. Or when they're as dumb as me.  
  
He had locked the door behind himself. Was he planning on not leaving? Was he here to cause some damage? Was he planning on getting some satisfaction out of me? Heat, an uncontrollable and boiling rise, flooded my veins in both anger and desire. I could not help but be attracted to this man: the tall, dark and handsome stranger who sat in the shadows of my living room, looking too big for my furniture. But I was also on high alert. A stranger he was... gazing at my naked body while I dimly managed to grasp the situation.  
  
In order to save face, I'm going to say that it had been a long day at work and I was tired. This is my excuse as to why it must have taken five minutes for me to regain my towel and dignity. The idea had occurred to me that I was, in fact, in possible danger. This man was roughly the size of a small pick-up and could easily overpower me and have anything in the place he desired, including my body and or my life. I guess the towel made me feel strong.  
  
"Can I get you a glass of milk or something?" Not, How'd you find me or Why are you here? No, those are intelligent sounding questions.  
  
He had remained passive, quiet, and completely still while I had rewrapped myself and prepared to invite a guest into my quarters. But at my offering of a drink, he raised an eyebrow. Sure, it was an iota of a fraction, but it was there. Maybe he expected me to throw him out, or pitch a fit for his entering. He probably expected me to spew obscenities at him for seeing me naked.  
  
"Water."  
  
His arms unfolded, his first real movement. Perhaps he was just as nervous as I. What the Hell am I nervous about again? Oh yeah, Mr. Mysterious, on my couch. No surprises left about how I dealt with my pubic hair last night.  
  
Stepping into the kitchen I fixed a glass of water for him and a glass of milk for me. Guess that's why I offered, right? I wanted some of my own. Returning to the couch, I offered him his glass. There was an awkward moment because he didn't take the glass from me. So I stood there, one arm outstretched with a sweaty glass of water in one hand, milk in the other, and a towel looking like it was itching to hit the floor again. I took the hint and stooped, placing his glass a magazine that was discarded on the coffee table. His eyes never left me.  
  
You know how on Scooby-Do the pictures sometimes have real eyes that follow the ghost busting gang around? That's what it felt like. Those smoldering orbs followed my every move, never betraying a look of dissatisfaction or hatred, lust or desire. They watched as his body was fixed like a painting, perfectly cruel in every way even to the slight downward curve of his lips. His muscles were mountains, cold and unforgiving, hard and angular planes of sheer pain. His stature so cold, you could almost see the wind blowing the snow off his shoulders. His lips were roses, blooming in the most barren of places, like a diamond in the rough.  
  
I caught myself staring.  
  
I abandoned the drinks, straightened up and eased a hand down my towel, consciously running my fingers down my side as a young woman would soothe the wrinkles out of her dress. "Be right back. Clothes." I don't know if he heard me because I slurred my sentence as I was walking hurriedly into my own room.  
  
After all my first dates, job interviews, and worrisome meetings, I've never struggled with clothing choices. Whatever was in front of me, I wore. I wasn't picky or deterred by small stains here or there. A tear the size of Candlestick Park was added character to a pair of shorts I'd owned since I was thirteen. And suddenly, I felt like I was unprepared. I scrambled through my messy room, desperately trying to match up items in my mind. This underwear looks great with this. These socks are good with these shoes. When I thought I'd made up my mind, I found nothing was clean. Surely something was against me!  
  
With a cry of defeat, I resigned to wear the same casual get up I wore almost every day I wasn't working: camouflage shorts and a tank top. Woo- hoo. So stylin'. As I was pulling the white shirt down over my stomach, I turned to the entrance to my bedroom to find it blocked.  
  
He was standing in the doorway, his shoulders almost touching the frame at each side, those black ice eyes fixed on me. First, he had seen me naked and now he was watching me get dressed.  
  
My standard irritability arose, "Do you mind?"  
  
"Not at all." Those terrible and desirable lips quirked into an amused smirk, his face filled with mirth. Well. I shouldn't say 'filled.' He wasn't lit up like a laughing clown and bursting with song. But as much as this dark man's face could be brightened, it happened. Maybe like a penlight had been shined in his eyes.  
  
I let loose a low growl, the sound of warning. He was treading on thin ice with me. He's in my home, on my turf and he thinks he can get away with being a sarcastic fuck? I don't think so.  
  
He seemed to have gotten the message and he stepped back, making a small leeway for me to get through the door. However, he refused to move so far as to make it possible for me to go through the frame without touching it or him. What is it with this guy?  
  
Unwilling to back down to any kind of challenge brought forth by some guy who thinks he can get the best of me will not be shot down. I brushed past him unflinchingly, the back of my hand grazing his stomach as I pushed off, forcing him to the side as I barged through. Oh, that single touch; the briefest and lightest of touches. I nearly hit the floor with my knees, hands gripping my throat. No, I did not do such, but I turned, eyes tightened in an accusatory raptor stare.  
  
Every single nerve ending in my hand was alight, tingling and ringing, shaking and rattling. The tremors cycled through my flesh, tramlines of electricity coursing through my veins, goosebumping my skin and raising every hair on end. I wouldn't say the sensation was painful, no, by far it was more pleasurable. It was a warm, liquid feeling that washed over me, drowning my senses in a current of energy. Yes, that's what it was, energy.  
  
If he had taken notice of the chills that racked my body, he showed no sign. He regarded me with the same stare, his eyes unreadable. This man was mystery, cool and shrouded. He was calculating and cunning. He was capable of the unknown. I was terrified. I had to force myself to a standstill to keep my body from doing what it so achingly wanted: to touch him yet again. My heart fluttered in my chest and I became lightheaded. My lungs worked hard for what little oxygen they got.  
  
I staggered a step. "P-p-pills," I stuttered, my strength leeching from my bones and muscles, leaving me a spineless mass on the floor. I heard footsteps, his dark leather boots appeared in my fading sight. "Help."  
  
Darkness.  
  
I woke to the green light of my VCR blinking 12:00. 12:00. 12:00. Yeah, I needed to set that damned thing.  
  
12:00. 12:00. 12:00. 12:00. Okay, I'm up, I'm up. Hefting myself into a sitting position I came face to face with two glittering gems in the night. Death. Death had finally come for me. He was crouched before me, his scythe upon his shoulder, mouth stretched into a grin the Cheshire cat would only wish was his own. The air in my lungs grew stale, my palate tasted caked and disgusting.  
  
Death spoke, his voice seamless, breathless, "Drink."  
  
Water was proffered to me, his skeletal hand invisible to my mortal eyes.  
  
I accepted and drank, the film on my tongue was all but gone afterward. Who doesn't do as Death commands?  
  
"The bottle by the sink, right?"  
  
A rattling noise stirred me from my delusion. He was not Death. He was something worse...  
  
He shook the bottle in my ear, his featureless face floating in the dark. "How many?"  
  
"Two." I suppose I understood what was going on. I had been taking these pills since before I could remember.  
  
From his hand I extracted two pills. His palm was massive, they looked like grains of sand. The world... in the palm of his hands. He's got the whole world, in his hands. I sang in my head. I am such a freak. I put the foul- tasting pills in my mouth and washed them down with the rest of the water.  
  
"Thanks," I had managed after some time.  
  
The glass was removed from my hands as he stood, grunting with the effort of dealing with me, I suppose. It wasn't the weight of the glass that was a burden.  
  
He set the glass in the sink, I could hear the cold ting of metal and glass connecting. I couldn't see him. Not only was it dark in my living room, my vision was not at the best given my current condition. Fainting and whatnot is not exactly good for the eyes. He stood there, a dark presence in my kitchen, looming much like the thunderclouds outside.  
  
"Why'd you do it?"  
  
Silence echoed in the walls of my apartment as I mulled over the question. We had taken a complete circle. It was the first thing he had asked me when I found him in my living room, making my couch look smaller than it should. It was the same question he asked me, and I knew it.  
  
"What're you talking about?"  
  
"That woman on the highway. You saved her. Why?"  
  
My bottom lip bore the brunt of my nervous thinking as I attempted to consider why it was I had saved her. I didn't entirely feel obligated for her life. As I had said before, I felt (and still feel) that it was the woman's own fault for driving me off the road. Not the other way around. I couldn't leave her to die. That's all I could think of. So I said it.  
  
He made a sound of exhaling. I wasn't sure if it was in disbelief or approval. "And why not?"  
  
This man had a five year old's habit of being annoying as shit.  
  
"Because she would have died otherwise."  
  
"So? What loss is that to you? What did you possibly gain by saving her?"  
  
Life and death was suddenly a black and white issue. He was looking for reasons I couldn't possibly begin to name. Maybe I was at fault and hid behind my mask of blame and guilt.  
  
"I gained nothing and lost nothing. I restored things as they should be. She lived and it appears as though nothing happened." I added on as a brief afterthought, "Maybe she'll stop eating while driving and take more care to chew."  
  
Again he made a noise. Was making a snorting sound all this man did to express his emotions?  
  
"Why did you even bother?"  
  
I got the nerve to question my questioner. "Why do you keep asking me these questions like I just saved the worst woman in the world and she's about to kill the president?"  
  
"How do you know she's not going to?"  
  
That put my foot in my mouth. I really didn't know. But what were the chances of it? Seriously. An overweight woman, sucking down cornbread like a tornado in Kansas, driving down the middle of some road in Pugartory, about to kill the president? Ludicrous! Absolutely impossible!  
  
"That's ridiculous and you know it." I was getting my spine back along with my strength. This man was paranoid beyond belief if he really bought into that! Anyone at any time could be out to kill the president. If he's so gung-ho about it, let him join the CIA and take a bullet for the man who kills thousands of innocents. Whoa, I guess that's how I really feel.  
  
"All I want to know is why." His voice was soft, but suddenly closer. How he had managed to cut the distance between us in half in the blink of an eye left me dumbstruck. I was paying attention to him, and then he was five feet nearer. That doesn't happen. Not normally.  
  
I looked down at my hands, wondering what it was in me that caused my feet to hit the pavement back on the highway. What had given me the strength to resuscitate the yeti? I had sighed then, my shoulders sinking as I had given up. "I didn't want her to die. I couldn't live with myself knowing I might have been able to make a difference and didn't." My own voice sounded small and weak, even to my own ears, but I kept going. "I didn't want to pretend like I didn't care. I don't like seeing people die. I don't want to let people around me die. I wanted to save her. To help."  
  
He stared at me, this time form a sitting position next to me on the couch, his eyes dancing with a light from within. An ever-burning coal that was embedded into the obsidian that were his eyes.  
  
I continued, somehow comfortable with speaking, "Ever since I was little I've been known to rush off at the sound of a scream. I'd drop whatever I was doing and throw myself into action, rescuing dogs, cats, babies, teenagers and even some adults. Even when the danger was high and the odds racked against me, somehow I managed to come out all right. As soon as I got there, I knew things would be better."  
  
My hands were all I could look at. I couldn't make myself stare at his face, much less his eyes. He could see my very soul, my core, my being, everything I had tried to hide from everyone he could see with just a glance. This man was the key to my undoing.  
  
"Why did you save me?"  
  
At this, he got to his feet. Picking up his jacket, he made for the door.  
  
"Where are you going? Tell me why! I could have died!" I jumped up, now wishing my uninvited guest would overstay his welcome.  
  
"You were in no danger," he told me. "You do not fear death." His jacked slid over his shoulders, hands straightening the gloves on his fingers. "You only fear what you may become."  
  
And like that, he was gone. The door was shut, the bolt thrown from the inside. But he was gone.  
  
A/N: It gets better. 


	5. Breaking Shit to Look Tough

S/D: Yeah. You know the drill. Sue me, and you'll get shit.  
  
**Prey  
**  
Chapter Five Breaking Shit to Look Tough  
  
I tossed and turned all night long. I don't think I got a wink of actual sleep.  
  
My so-called dreams were fitful, outrageous and incredibly strange. They only had one thing in common: the Stranger.  
  
I can't say what it is about the man that implanted itself so deeply into my head. So deep it felt like he'd taken a jackhammer to my memory and imbedded himself in there. There was no way to remove him without ripping my brain out of my head. Preferably by the optic cord or out the nasal passageway, I saw it on some online cartoon with small animals and want to see if it actually works.  
  
Here I am, sidetracked again.  
  
So he's unforgettable. Fuck you Marvin Gaye (or should I say, Marvin GAY). This is not the good kind. This is the type where he's gone and wrapped me around his pinky. Every inch of me wanted him, just to be around him, just to know he was near. I've touched him once, and only once was enough to know the affect he had on me. He'd triggered something deep within me, something hidden: my secret.  
  
And what is my secret, you might ask? I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. And I would just hate to do that so early in the story. My secret will have to remain just that: a secret. Maybe you can guess. Good luck.  
  
My paranoid visions of the stranger, that's what I was talking about. Yes. They were ridiculously varied. Ranging from outer space travel, circuses, torture, rape, luncheon meetings, and conspiracy theories to small talks by the waterfront, star gazing and even playful spats of physical supremacy. My imagination was on a rampage and was not reluctant to keep me up because of it. Stupid head.  
  
The next night was equally as horrible. I ate nothing the whole day and my strength was draining from my body. It felt as though I'd caught a cold: every muscle was sore without using them. Work was tedious, the hot summer days keeping potential customers out of the sun and in their nice air- conditioned homes. Hot food and heavy soups were not on the brains of wallet carrying yuppies. They were too busy with their new and improved air- wick pants and collared shirts. Stain defender pants are so last week, don't you know.  
  
The pools were overcrowded, water parks shutting their doors in a frantic scramble to cater to the thousands who had snuck in right at opening. It was hot, okay? Wickedly hot. Hell's furnaces trembled in terror at the swelled heat produced on the land.  
  
It made my job so boring, so very mind-numbing boring. As much fun it is to shoot the shit with the co-workers all day, a measly 2.15 an hour was not going to pay my bills. Tipping the bussers was coming out of my pocket. It was costing me money to go to work. Now that sucks.  
  
The rest of the week went much the same: no sleep, no money, more time to lose my sanity to the stranger in my mind. It was a disease, I decided; an infectious agent that corrupted every cell of my body and poisoned my neural nets into doing nothing but day dream and deprive me of my much needed sleep.  
  
I was a zombie and had no reason for it. I was becoming frustrated. Unequivocally upset. Five nights of watching reruns of cartoons that no longer made any sense in my pudding of a mind, five days of nothing but nibbles at food stuffs, five days and nights of wanton and destructive day dreams. Agh. I get mad just thinking about it right now!  
  
I shuffled home and opened the door with the exhausted-shove-your-weight- against-it style and stumbled up the stairs. Dropping my bag gracelessly, I gaped at my couch that once again housed the stranger. His thick arms were crossed over the expanse of Teflon that served as his chest, glaring ominously at me. His gaze was indicative of displeasure and it looked like I was about to get a talking to by a man who's name I didn't even know.  
  
Does 'I'm not in the mood' correctly fit this situation? Yes, yes it does.  
  
"What the fuck do you want? And how the Hell do you keep getting in here?" I stalked to the kitchen and served myself a glass of milk without offering him any. Serve the asshole that is taking away what's left of my marbles and sneaking into my house? No, I think not!  
  
Sure, I could yell and carry on, but I noticed I wasn't demanding that he leave. Oh no, I was more than happy to vent my building pressure upon this man. He was, after all, the cause.  
  
He responded with the typical rush of air from his nose that he was so well known for. That sarcastic mother...  
  
"Pack for two weeks."  
  
Thank you, Mr. Random!  
  
I shot him an incredulous look, thinking he was absolutely mad. "Oh, are we going to Hawaii? Or maybe one of those Caribbean islands I'm so fond of. St. Lucia, is it? I'll need more razors."  
  
"They're coming."  
  
"Who's coming, you twit?" It never occurred to me at the time that it was a bad idea to taunt a man who looked like he could bend titanium with his pinky finger.  
  
"_Red Ribbon_."  
  
I don't know about you, but I've never, in all my life, been horrified to see red ribbons. I've never run, screaming bloody murder from a crimson or satin lined, folded or looped, textured or shiny ribbon. This 'red ribbon' made me laugh. "Oh, so Christmas presents have been possessed and they're about to attack?"  
  
He looked insulted for some reason. I didn't know how important wrapping was to him, I guess.  
  
"You don't know who the Red Ribbon Army is. You really are an ignorant wretch." A sneer wrought its way across the uneven level of his lips, curling like smoke from a chimney, mirthless and malevolent. It sent a shiver down my spine as the room seemed to drop to a chilly ambience.  
  
My shoulders instantly drew back as I stood my ground defensively. "What, is it some world-wide organization that's responsible for terrorist actions against us?"  
  
He gave me a guarded look, his feelings hidden from me on purpose. "You could say that," he offered.  
  
"Wait a second. You think this ...whatever, is coming after _me_?" He gave me no reply, but the answer was in plain sight.  
  
What was he getting at? Some secret world organization whose sole purpose was to wreak havoc and chaos across undeserving nations was after me. Me. Little stupid me. I wasn't sure who was crazier, him for suggesting it, or me for actually thinking he was being honest for a hundredth of a second.  
  
My weight shifted onto one leg and I sighed in controlled irritation. "I don't have the patience for this. I'm going to take a bath and try to forget you exist." I walked away from him, still shaking my head, "You let yourself in. You can let yourself out."  
  
I didn't hear him leave. I didn't know if he had, in fact, obeyed and abandoned me as I had ordered. I didn't know if he was still in the living room, sitting in silent vigil in front of the blank television screen. I don't think I cared much either way. This man was attempting to be the death of me.  
  
Steam filled the small bathroom as I drew the hottest bath the water heater would allow. It was just shy of scalding and caused goosebumps to riddle my skin. It was perfect. As I sank into the half-filled tub, the hot water burned my skin. It felt delicious. I shivered, my sore muscles rippling, causing an agonizing tremor to wrack my body. I winced before I became accustomed to the temperature and settled comfortably in the porcelain bowl.  
  
I closed my eyes and willed my brain empty. I didn't notice how hard I was concentrating on becoming quiet until I heard the beating of my heart. My eyes opened to watch the water echo the thrumming sound.  
  
It was most unusual to see your own heartbeats become ripples of water. I could hear the muscle clench in my chest and could feel the pounding rhythm constricting in my back. I do not know why I could feel it in my back. The closest feeling I could recall is sometimes feeling your pulse in your thumb or fingers. It was odd, knowing the organ was located deep in my chest, and to feel it in my back. It's like a ventriloquist of the heart.  
  
I paid no attention to the world outside of my little tub. I was blissfully unaware that downstairs, my door was being burned through. Not the lock, the entire door.  
  
Because I had left the bedroom door ajar, I could see the light from the kitchen. It lit up my bedroom with the normal and anticipated weakness. I watched, without much reaction because of my sluggish state, as the light increased in intensity. If fact, it was so bright, I could smell the heat. It was the foul odor of an item burning in the microwave. Something was getting toasted beyond well done. Haha, it was my door.  
  
There was a small crash, not too loud as to alert the neighbors (like they'd respond with anything but a bang on the wall and a shout of "Shut the Hell up!") and red streaks filled the kitchen.  
  
Now I've seen enough action movies to know what red beams mean: it means someone's going to get shot.  
  
Let's recap this situation. I've just been told by a nameless and decidedly infuriating man that a world-wide terrorist organization was after me, then my door gets treated like a piece of balsa wood, and now little red pinpointing lights are surveying my kitchen while I sit in a pool of hot water, naked as the day I was born. It appeared to me that perhaps he was right, someone was after me.  
  
My options of escape seemed laughably limited and not a one of them would leave me a shred of dignity or clothes. However, escape was the only thing on my mind. Stepping from the tub, I shook each leg and arm vigorously to rid myself of excess water that would only prove as a trail to my new location. Silent footfalls accompanied me to the bathroom door.  
  
Every muscle in my body was quivering and shaking in absolute terror. I did not know the reason why these people were here, and my imagination was not telling me it was for a tea party. Maybe the rent was late?  
  
The doorknob was the type that locked if you pushed it in and turned it a bit counterclockwise. Cheap, because all you needed was a q-tip to insert into the hole on the opposite handle to release the locking mechanism. However, it served my purposes as I engaged the lock and shut the door behind me.  
  
Taking one deep breath and stifling the urge to squeal, I dashed across my bedroom, hoping a white streak of ass did not light up the hallway like greased lightening. I ducked into my own closet, feeling much like a sixteen year old caught in the act at her boyfriend's place. If only I was having sex right about now. Things could be better.  
  
The red beams made it into my bedroom and zeroed in on the closed bathroom door. I buried myself in a heap of clothes, now thankful that my less than perfect housekeeping was saving my life. I considered it further incentive to never clean again. By managing to create an eyehole to look through, I watched as half a dozen men dressed like SWAT units banged and poured over the hinges of my bathroom door. Each one was hefting a gun of some kind, and by the looks of things, they were well trained and could make some real damage.  
  
Two more figures entered the room, their hips swaggering in a way that indicated their relaxed state. They seemed cocky, assured, and the gun- toting hooligans stepped completely out of their way. Unarmed and dressed much like teenage civilians, these two looked out of place. Well, compared to the rest of my uninvited company.  
  
This was my chance! Everyone was so focused on the bathroom, I had only seconds before they opened it much like my main door and discovered I wasn't in there. I crawled more than walked to the window on the far side of my bed, praying each second that I would remain undiscovered. A gentle groan sounded like Niagara Falls to my ears as I eased the window open bit by bit, my gaze fixed on the men who surrounded my bathroom, poised to attack whatever they found behind the door.  
  
I inched my way out of the window, feet first, scrambling madly for some kind of foothold or ledge. I found purchase on the metal rungs of the drain pipe (the very one that groaned in the wind and kept me up and night) that was ever so conveniently installed so close to my window. Lowering myself from the window ledge to the drain pipe, I held my breath and prayed silently to the god whom I disbelieved in, just let me get down.  
  
That was when the pipe started to give way. The metal shrieked and howled beneath my weight, the supporting screws popping from the synthetic siding of the apartment complex. With my hands still on the ledge, my head still in view, I saw her turn.  
  
She was like nothing I've ever seen before. She was beautiful, yes, but unearthly so. Her structure was so unique, so different, she appeared almost too perfect, too alien. Then her eyes chilled me to the bone. Everything about the woman seemed alive, the way her hair fanned as her head snapped in my direction. The way her face took on vague surprise and dislike her features settled upon me. But her eyes... They were dead.  
  
You know how some people say that eyes are a view to the soul? I buy into such philosophy, and found this woman to be an empty shell. Certainly she was alive, a living breathing organism, alive as you or me. But her eyes were an ice blue, an ice so cold, it froze the life it touched instantly, offering no quarter, no mercy. I felt so cold in her gaze.  
  
I pretty much fell the rest of the way down right about then. The pipe gave way and ripped from the wall and I tumbled most beautifully into the unforgiving ground.  
  
I don't know about you, but any time I've ever heard of people falling from a second story window, they don't manage to walk away. There's usually an ambulance and broken bones accompanied by a gang of onlookers and rubber necks. But this time, I don't even think I bat an eye. I climbed to my feet, brushed myself off and ran.  
  
I was a fucking action movie star! Okay, a naked action movie star.  
  
Running full tilt into my car, I was suddenly struck with the worst truth of my life. You're a naked action movie star with no fucking keys, you absolute MORON! What good is your car, if you can't fucking get into it!? You're a fucktard! What _were_ you thinking?!  
  
I barely had time to smack the car in outrage when something rather unexpected caught my attention. The woman was back. She was approaching me. The odd thing was how she was managing to do it. She was floating through the air, completely unharnessed or wired, flying without aid in my direction.  
  
Okay. People don't fly. They just don't. It's not physically possible. So why in the Hell was she landing in front of me, a cold smirk filling her face? I couldn't explain it. She stretched a hand out at me.  
  
Wait, why was she smirking?  
  
I'm getting a little sick of people seeing me naked, you know.  
  
A/N: To all those Halo fans out there, Breaking Stuff to Look Tough is a subchapter on Assault of the Control Room. And yeah, the No Enemies cheat works. 


	6. When the Sickness is Your Soul

S/D: I bet Toriyama's lawyers come up with terrible, awful things to do to fan-girls like myself.

**Prey**

Chapter Six "When the Sickness is Your Soul"

_If it chance your eye to offend you,_

_Pluck it out, lad, and be sound:_

'_Twill hurt, but there are salves to friend you,_

_And many a balsam grows on ground._

_And if your hand or foot offend you,_

_Cut if off, lad, and be whole;_

_But play the man, and up and end you,_

_When the sickness is your soul._

-A.E. Houseman, _A Shropshire Lad, xlv._

I woke up in my own bed.

It felt like a surprise.

Like one of those nights when you don't remember where it was you passed out, so you're always pleased when you find yourself still clothed and at least somewhere comfortable.

Wait. I'm dressed?

I made to sit up and found myself with such a head-rush, my vision blackened entirely and nausea swept over me in a tsunami. I flopped back onto my pillow and waited for it to subside. I fell asleep again in the process.

My dreams were horrible. I was always screaming, fighting, wishing I was dead. I dreamt I was being chased after by a man who looked like a reanimated cadaver. He could not be killed, no matter how many times I ran him over or tried to drown him. When he caught me, he would always torture me. I dreamt that I was blind and managed to drink acid. It burned my mouth, lips and tongue terribly, only to tear into my esophagus and damage my voice so badly, I could no longer scream.

My throbbing head woke me up this time.

I still got up before my alarm.

Getting to my feet, I staggered into the kitchen for some water and perhaps something to eat. The more I thought about it, the hungrier I got.

Eggs.

I wanted eggs.

I ate breakfast in silence: three eggs, three pieces of toast and two huge glasses of milk. Guess I was hungrier than a thought.

10:30. Time to shower and clean up before work.

The phone rang while I was in the shower. They left no message, just the dial tone.

It rang again. No message.

By the time I had gotten out of the shower, the phone had rang no less than half a dozen times.

When it rang this time, I answered it with my "what the fuck do you want" tone.

"Yes, hello." It was the leasing office.

"We're just calling to ask about a disturbance in your area last night. Seems several of our tenants were woken up last night by loud sounds."

She had yet to ask me a question. I stayed quiet.

She gave out a distressed sigh. I almost laughed. "Is everything all right ma'am?"

I guess she couldn't outright accuse me of causing this disturbance, whatever it may have been. "Yes. Everything is fine."

"Where were you last night, ma'am?" and then she followed quickly with, "Were you woken up as well?"

"I was in bed, asleep. I don't know what you're talking about."

"I see."

There was a pause. She couldn't point any more fingers and I was loving the fact she was stewing. I decided to break the silence. "Anything else?"

"No, ma'am. Thank you for your time. I hope everything is we--."

I hung up.

Those ass pirates get on my case for everything. If it's not a phantom stereo that the deaf old bat next door narcs on me for blasting, it's the outrageous number of male visitors I have that like to stomp the ceilings in of the renter below me. None of this has happened, naturally. I don't even own a stereo and my laptop speakers just can't carry a bass riff that loudly. I'm also new in the area and my only friends are my co-workers. ...yeah, _friends_.

The mercenaries I rent from went as far as to charge me twenty five dollars for putting my garbage out for the trucks the night before rather than that very morning. I suppose it's my fault I have a job that keeps me up late at night and comatose in the mornings. I started leaving it in my neighbors plot. The next notice I got was saying how they'll dig through the trash to find out whose it was, and then charge.

I think my neighbor's boinking the landlady.

Ew.

I ran my hands through my hair, tousling the wet locks in an attempt to dry them. My nails scraped over my neck and I felt my spine twinge involuntarily. Investigating further, I soothed my fingers over my neck to find a small scab right at the base of my hairline. Scratching it at more or less hurt, so I left it alone.

How'd I get a cut there?

You must have scratched yourself.

When'd I get it?

Probably last night at work. You're always hurting yourself.

Who's gonna argue with their own brains like that, eh? I believed myself in an instant. Nicely done.

Time to go.

I ignored the phone as it rang while I was walking out the door. If they know me and need me, they have my cell phone number. They can get a hold of me. It's not hard.

The ride to work was the usual; traffic leaden and hot, almost unbearably so. My skin was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, trickles of it ran down the backs of my legs from the joint of my knees. I had to switch anti-perspirant brands just to stop pools from showing in my arm pits. All because of the car ride. I don't sweat that much at work. Besides, there's a walk-in freezer with my name on it any time the temperature becomes slightly intolerable.

When I made it through the doors, I thanked technology for air conditioning. You know the feeling of being all sweaty and hot and then you go somewhere cool and the sweat gets all cold and sticky and then you feel like you've just gotten out of a pool or something? Yeah, you don't have to tell me I'm crazy for me to know it. And why the Hell is it called air conditioning anyway? The conditioning I know about is not for air.

Friendly hellos and high fives fill the server alley. The familiar smacks and jeers welcomed me back to the working place. It felt like I never left. Did I?

I had a smile on my face until I ran into my general manager.

Now to say Jon was always cheerful would be incorrect. Besides, jolly would be the word to describe him. After all, the man was as large, if not larger, than the mythical Santa Claus and _he_ was jolly, not cheerful.

My GM resembled an upside down top in many ways. He was skinny in the legs, sharply widening below the belt (now folks, that's just his descended intestine) to swell at the stomach and taped off at the shoulders and neck to a point called his head. Sure, the top would be incredibly lopsided, for the man's front was twice as bulbous as his back, he was perfect for the human-top job. Now if I only could draw Jewish symbols on him and get some chocolate.

On account of the Jolly Green Giant being jolly, that was not the case. He was looking as severe as the Stay Puffed Marshmallow man could look. True, this is not so bad, but it was enough to know I was in hot water and didn't know why.

Time to call backup.

Looping my arms in Laurie and Laura's, I chauffeured them to a quiet space in dry storage and dodged a head on collision with king sized manager.

"What's eatin'?"

"You were a no-call-no-show yesterday! Where were you?" their sweet little voices chirped out simultaneously. Hold on, lemme regurgitate something for you sweety.

Now wait just one minute, "I was here yesterday! What are you talking about?"

I think it was the look of abject horror on my face that made my co-conspirators turn to face the same direction and gaze upon a yeti of a manager. "Uh-oh," was uttered by one of our mouths and they suddenly gave the term scatter new meaning.

I, however, was left underneath the eyes of Jon. The Three Amigos was suddenly the Lonely Amiga. He turned (and it was his birthday again, haha) and beckoned me to follow him. We were going into his lair filled with empty pie tins and receipts: the office.

"Explain."

"Explain what?"

The one ton eyebrows wiggled.

I came out of that office angry and incredibly confused. I was suspended for my no-call-no-show and was written up formally. I had to sign a piece of paper explaining that I knew I was breaking the rules and knew I was in the wrong. Yeah. When I totally had no fucking clue what the Hell was going on!

It appears, folks, that I missed an entire day.

How do you do that?!

How do you fall asleep and wake up two mornings later?! It's ridiculous!

Okay, sure, I've done my fair share of sleeping. I've slept more than a day before, yes. But not on days when I have work and I knew my alarm was set. I turned it off this morning, in fact! I got up early! That's right. I got up early just to get bitched at for missing a day!

Which brings me back to how in the Hell I managed to miss a day...

This has never happened to me before. I was so disoriented I felt like I was going to hurl. A whole day. What happened to that whole day? It was Friday and I went to sleep on Wednesday.

I was unnerved and uncharacteristically agitated.

The back of my neck itched. It itched bad.

What does one do when their neck itches? They scratch it!

Little did I know how bad of an idea that was.

Wheeee. I was on a roller coaster! I could see the lights and could hear people shouting, some laughing. It was fun! I was dizzy! Wheee! Up another hill! Oops, the ride's over. Time to get off!

I woke up on the floor, paramedics and co-workers hovering over my head. Now, the smartest thing I've ever said. Here it comes: "I wanna put it in my mouth."

Just for future reference, if you ever find yourself waking up on the floor and looking up at seven heads staring down at you, don't tell them you want to stick something in your god damned mouth, okay? You'll never, and I mean _never_, live that down. Hell, the paramedics themselves are going to tell everyone they know for the rest of their lives! Just imagine their little grandson asking them to tell a story about work to everyone in their class on Your Hero day and every parent in the room (your hero's always your parents when you're in kindergarten, come on!) now knows that you wanna stick it in your mouth when you first wake up.

You bunch of pervs.

Stop thinking about it already.

My show of superior intellect continued as I smiled rather retardedly and asked the nice nurse with blue hair if I could dye my hair purple so we could match. Then I told them my kitty was the bestest kitty in the whole wide world and could beat up all their kitties. Soon I told them about how I could still manage to put my foot in my mouth. Literally. I've done that figuratively way too often for people to miss that one.

I asked the nice nurse lady type thing what the bad smell was, more or less accusing her of being the cause of the bad smell.

Right about then I bit my tongue so hard, blood pooled into my mouth. I jerked as pain lanced through every nerve of my spine and I smacked my head hard on the tile floor. Later on I was told that I asked permission to use the car while nearly choking to death on my own blood.

I heard the medics shout and curse as they fought to control my limbs. My co-workers also piled on, each sitting on a writhing body part. I was lashing with the strength inside of me I did not know I possessed. Perhaps all victims of seizures do. I must have marked someone with my swinging legs and fists. I don't recall.

Something jabbed me in the back of the neck, right above my spine. The blue haired nurse was holding my head. Now she smelled like lilacs. But I hated her because she hurt me. A burning sensation trickled through my body, spreading with each heartbeat, unclenching the muscles one by one. Oh, how it ached. I felt as through I'd been dipped in lye. I cried and sobbed, it hurt to breathe in, and so I cried harder, only making it worse.

I curled upon the floor, my tears and blood mixing in my hair and clothes. I was a mess.

I don't think I was going to come into work the next day anyway. So you can just go ahead and suspend me.

Asshole.

I hate waking up in a place you don't know.

There's something intimidating and sinister about it.

It's only compounded by finding yourself naked.

Has this ever happened to you?

And you so-called alien abductees, I don't wanna hear about it.

On a side note, I seem to be doing a lot of this waking up stuff.

So there I was. By moving just the slightest, I found cold metal biting at my skin. Harsh lights illuminated the room that was entirely white; stark, plain, clean. I felt like I was in the E.R.; surgical steel plate beneath me and hot white lights above me. I guess my hunch was right.

The blue haired lady from my episode earlier leaned over me and smiled. Her perfect lips mouthed words I could not hear, but the corners of her mouth were curled up, suggesting she was pleased with something. I was comforted in knowing the paramedics were smiling. Things were okay.

I obviously don't remember them carting me off from the job site in an ambulance. Much less remember them tearing away my stained clothes to perform CRP while they warmed up the paddles. I suppose I woke up once or twice, the electric shock to stimulate my heart also stabbing me to a semi-conscious state. Words like "too much," "cardiac arrest," "epilepsy," and "fucking idiot," were shared among the EMTs. I couldn't make sense of it. I don't have epilepsy and cardiac arrest is rare in people my age. Fucking idiot I could agree with. Someone out there was a fucking idiot.

I tried getting to my feet, eager to discover just how wounded my body was from the whole ordeal. I found my limbs strapped to the table, mercilessly pinning me to the cold slab that now served as my bed. I tried to turn my head to survey the room, perhaps whine piteously at a nurse or technician, to find my head held stationary by a thick Velcro strap at my forehead. Similar straps were positioned over my wrists, ankles, waist and shoulders. They weren't taking any chances of me falling off this table, I guess.

Panic must have filled my eyes. My heart rate must have rocketed. I broke out in a cold sweat. My teeth sank into the plastic mouthpiece positioned to keep me from biting my tongue. I writhed in my bindings and howled from my throat. Rational thought was not my friend at this point in time. I can honestly say, however, that it is the best reaction one could have. Waking in a place you do not know and strapped to a table without a single way of fighting back, you're damn right your body's going to jump to conclusions and pump adrenaline through you.

The blue haired doctor did not like this at all. Her gaze hardened into a cool mask of professionalism. I glared at her, blaming her for this ordeal. This was her fault. It had to be. She was there when I was in pain, and she's here now. The sound of Velcro tearing was music to my ears. A sense of victory filled me from head to toe. It was addictive, satisfying. Hell, it was better than chocolate. My lips peeled into a vicious grin, stretched by the mouth piece and my joy in my soon-to-be freedom. My hands... they would clamp upon her throat, and I could gain what I have always wanted. I would be free.

Something traded hands and she pricked my skin. I could not see.

I fell asleep almost instantly.

That was my moment in the sun, my second of insanity. I felt, well, I would not say alive versus not being alive previously, but I felt like a new type of blood surged through these veins of mine. I was full of energy and craved the pursuits of life I had never before dreamed. I felt like a woman reborn.

My desires were base, instinctual, and focused rather egocentrically. They were also fairly easily obtained. Safety was a priority. And through achieving my safety I would be willing to exercise myself and slick my blood lust.

Let me step back a moment here. To say I knew it was blood lust at the time would be false. For someone who has never experienced the cry to take a life, you would not recognize the need. Imagine: you've never felt anger at any time in your life and suddenly, bang, you're madder than "insert funny quip here" and don't know what the Hell is going on with you. You're sweating and breathing hard, you can't see clearly and all you want to do is break something (well, I know I do when I'm really mad).

It's confusing to have to label your emotions so late in life. I'm used to experiencing the known and named ones so to have a completely foreign feeling coursing through my body is not only a rush, but a revitalizing experience. It was a healthy reminder that I am not done. I am alive. I am young.

To sum up, I felt empowered. As though someone had handed me Zeus's triton and told me to go for it.

After my safety was no longer in question I had planned to knock off my bodily needs, one by one: food, water, shelter, and finally sex. Oh boy.

I wanted it from one place and one place alone would satisfy me. I wanted the Stranger.

To say I _wanted_ him would be an understatement. I cannot adequately describe the _need_ that tugged the tendons of my body and raged in my poor excuse of a soul. Ahem. I have a pitiful grasp of this language stuff. And sharing my feelings, well, that's hard enough.

Anyway. The Stranger. Yes. In the mere instants that I had become the unleashed beast within, I had staked my claim in the man's hide. I sought his blood, his flesh and his bones (haha, go dirty puns!). I could not wait to dig my nails upon his back, to spell my name in his very skin. I wanted to bathe in the filth that was his sweat and blood.

My desires for the Stranger were no longer of a woman who merely required companionship and a simple lover. They were taboo and immoral, dirty and distasteful. Society frowned upon women who dreamt of peeling the skin off her lover's face to kiss the bared muscles of his lips. I wanted to kill him as much as I wanted to fuck him. Was that too much to ask for?

A heavy hand descended upon my heart, quietly constricting, silently squeezing my life away. I clawed and howled, thrashing beneath the murderer, tearing at the limbs that sought to end me too soon. A ragged scream tore through my throat, finally waking my slow body up. I shot to a sitting position, hands clutching my abused chest. I had ripped my shirt and scraped at my skin. Small welts were forming on the white flesh of my breasts where I had attempted to free myself of a killer.

Again, I knew I was somewhere alien. The clothes were not mine. The bed not formed to my body. What was this place? Am I dreaming?

Then I saw him. _He_ was there, sitting across the room, watching with those raven eyes.

Oh, how venerable I felt beneath his gaze.

I was small again; powerless, fragile, pathetic. I wanted to go home. I wanted to cry.

But most of all...

I wanted to die.

I didn't understand what was happening to me. None of it made sense. When I put it all together, it was all too random. I had incomplete memories and flashes of what I thought happened that totally discredited the events that actually happened. I was torn between my own memories and the stories of others.

Pain and flashes of light would accompany returning memories, the smells, the tastes. What has happened? Shouts echoed down the halls. Empty halls. No, they were the halls of somewhere else, another facility. My hand came to my head to fight the oncoming colors.

I was falling. To where, I don't know. My hair licked my face. It was soft, smelling so sweet. The wind was gentle, calm, shrouding my limbs and bodice in a smooth sheet of silk. I looked up to the place I fell, it was so far away. But there she was: the blonde with the blue eyes.

Her jaw length hair fluttered in the same wind that carried me away, her arms still outstretched from pushing me from this cliff. Those eyes. They were there. Cold, unforgiving blue. The depths of the sea could not possess the frightening aura in that azure gaze. I feared them without thought. No one had to tell me to be afraid, or to run from them, but I did.

A/N: Moving's a bitch. Arrr.

Uh. I forgot to update this thing. Whoops. Heee...


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